The Begotten
by MessengerOfDreams
Summary: Violence begets violence, and war begets war. After all, to catch a killer, you must become one. This is a lesson to be learned all too well by Teresa Lisbon after Red John takes the life of Patrick Jane at long last.


**A/N I don't think I've ever written anything this dark before, nor have I really thought to. It just… I always wondered with shows like these, what if we don't get the happy ending to everything? I mean, like with NCIS, has anyone actually feared that Gibbs would be killed off? It's always expected that someday things will end happily ever after. So for once in my life, I'm going to change that.**

**This is pretty tough to write, because I'm a pretty big happy ending addict. With several of my short stories, I've changed the melancholic or unhappy ending to a hopeful or happy ending. Yep, I'm pretty much a chicken, but that's just how I roll. This time, though, things will not be nearly as happy. Be forewarned.**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing, regret nothing and let them forget nothing. I did take some influence from an old story drafted by a friend of mine named Jared, who also writes, named **_**The Cycle. **_**He's already been notified of this and gave the all clear. **

**Let's go.**

_Tuesday, December 29__th__, 2012. 6:34pm_

"I'm afraid, Miss Lisbon, the games have concluded. I have had my fun with Mr. Jane, but alas, all games must come to an end, and the truth is that I had become quite bored with my opponent. As such, I decided to take my easy victory at long last and head home."

That voice. So casual, so distant. She shouldn't have been so surprised that the voice over the phone portrayed such mannerisms, but it still seemed to leave a nothingness in her gut that threatened to take the breath out of her. Somewhere in the back of her mind she seemed to simply register what a shocking moment she was in, confirming to her; _he has your phone number. He's calling you over a phone. This is his voice. _

_This is Red John's voice._

"I would suggest, Teresa," the serial killer concluded, the utterance of her first name sending shivers up her spine that felt like needles forced into her bones, "that you would go and clean up your mess." Nothing more needing to be said, he hung up, leaving a stagnant Lisbon immobile for a few brief moments where not a thought crossed her mind, not a single one. The room seemed to fade away, the sounds muting and the sights evaporating and the scents disappearing, leaving her stuck in a white limbo where nothing seemed to even exist, not even herself.

_Jane. _

The thought brought her back to life, and as if that moment never happened, she snapped to attention. Loosening her iron grip on her cell phone, she began to dial in an old familiar number with a fervency that nearly caused her to misdial, and probably would have if she had not memorized a long time ago. Immediately, she began the call, shouting "Jane? Jane?" before the dial tones even began. Not even three rings in, she was sent straight to voicemail.

"Damn it!" she hissed to Patrick Jane's pre-recorded voice, oozing the sneaky, devious but ultimately familiar and even lovable charm that he was known for. She couldn't listen to it long enough to leave a message, slamming the phone down on her desk. She threw her door open and ran into the large open space in the building the CBI affectionately referred to as the 'bullpen.'

"Everyone, get over here!" Her order was barely necessary; as soon as they heard her door hit the wall all three team members were spinning out of their office chairs to stand in front of their leader. No one bothered to ask what was going on, and Lisbon wasn't about to wait for an invitation.

"Jane's in trouble," she breathed heavily. "It's, it's bad. We need to get everyone out to his place, right now."

"Just us?" Van Pelt looked around the room nervously, as if willing other people to show up.

"No," Lisbon took only a moment to decide. "Get everyone we can get. Red John…" no other words would form after the hated name. No other words were needed; that one name summarized the emergency of the situation. Code Red.

Shaking visibly, Van Pelt took out her phone and began to gather the troops on Lisbon's behalf.

"Rigsby," Teresa continued. "I need you to check for Jane at a hotel."

"Which one's he staying in this time?" A valid question from Rigsby, who was somewhat aware of Jane's hotel-surfing tendencies. Lisbon quickly rattled off the address and name, not moving again until

Still not entirely at top form, Lisbon ran as fast as she could out of the building and to her car, Cho wordlessly following (although at this rate Lisbon had nearly entirely forgotten about him.)

Lisbon barely noticed that she was out in the streets of Sacremento until she was driving through the downtown area. She was close to his house, she realized; unsure if she was satisfied to be near or if she wished she was far, far away and didn't have to face what was going on. Probably both.

The passenger seat beside her was frighteningly empty. Cho had already taken a separate vehicle himself, leaving the space that Jane would often occupy starkly empty. She didn't bring herself to look to her right and acknowledge that Jane wasn't there to help them look for Jane, turning her head away as she fumbled for a gun, any gun, of the three she kept near her. As she pulled up in front of his old house, a bitterly familiar harbinger of death, she gripped one in her hand before slamming the door open and scrambling out, not bothering to turn her car off.

A part of her wanted to stand outside, not to go in and risk it all. Red John could simply be lying. Even worse, it could be a trap- she could very well find herself the victim of this night as opposed to…

She didn't care. She found herself kicking in the door, looking around the empty house with her gun poised for attack. After checking for the all clear, she began to search the house for Jane, nearly welding the pistol into her fingers. He didn't appear in the immediate vicinity, a cocky, knowing grin on his face as he reassured her that this certainly was proof that she went overboard for those she cared about. No such luck this time.

Gulping in a deep breath, Teresa forced herself to open the door to the bedroom. She closed her eyes, not opening them until the door hit the wall, leaving her face to face with the sickening blood-drawn smile that always greeted her with warm sadism.

She realized as the emptiness returned and consumed her insides that the single lonely smile was no longer the only one on the wall- a fresh new sample of Red John's artwork, which was the same as all the others, except-

She forced herself to look down at where Jane would sleep, under the blood of his wife and child with only the mattress and masochism of it all to keep him company. She saw him there, facedown, still once more. The mattress was drenched in maroon the same way sponges absorbed water, the same maroon of the smiling, taunting faces on the wall that brought the only color in the room.

_Jane's blood._

She fell to her knees, not even being able to fathom the fact that the blood that kept Jane alive, that kept his brilliant mind running and that kept his smarmy charm winning and that kept his complex heart beating was painted on the wall by the one who had now taken away the last thing Jane had- his life.

She expected to cry, but the sobs didn't come. All she could feel was the same feeling she had experienced for a just a moment earlier. Everything began to fade to white, her senses disappearing and her mind shutting down, leaving her static, on her knees, lifeless eyes boring a hole into the wall where the last trace of the Jane family remained forevermore.

She didn't move, even when Cho caught up with her less than five minutes later. She didn't hear his voice crack as he called 9-1-1, shouting for a medic even though he knew it was of no use. Shortly afterward, she didn't see Van Pelt walk in unprepared, only to fall to the ground in shock. She didn't hear her jagged sobs as Rigsby ran in after them, not even glancing at the spectacle before bringing Van Pelt to an embrace before losing his composure and weeping with her.

All she could do within the impending chaos was stare at the red faces who would be forever staring back at her, even after Cho gingerly began to carry his boss out of the room. There would be no victory in this war, because from the looks of it, it was over.

Only, as she would come to eventually find, the war with Red John was anything but.

**A/N Hello, Mentalist section of Fanfiction net. I'm MessengerOfDreams, and I'd like to start off by killing Patrick Jane. **

**Not the best way to start work in a section, I suppose. But certainly the gutsiest story I've started yet. I'm prepared for any reviews I have coming, no matter the content. **

**Thanks for courageously reading, folks. **

**~MoD **


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